The Rebels of Destiny
by The Umbran Mage
Summary: Destiny. To some, a force that is constantly controlling one's own path, forcing one in directions they never would've taken. To others, a weaver, constantly creating new paths and trails through time. But one must always ask, how can one truly rebel from one's own destiny? And if so, in the end, does the walker choose the path, or does the path choose it's walker?
1. The Obsidian Ashes

**Pilot Trailer**

 **Obsidian Ashes**

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 _"Though the maze within your heart and mind is laced with masquerade and heavenly lies, do not let it absorb you, for it would erase the remnants of purity and loyalty within."_

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 _"Through this, you will find a haven in both darkness and light, and stronger than both. Forever chasing courage and strength, while gifted with wisdom and illusion, I let your soul fly unbound from the chains of destiny, and through your gift, protect you for eternity."_

* * *

The snowflakes fell silently across the empty fields which were laced with cold ice, black mountains in the distance, the clouds forever dyed in an unwelcoming grey until the first day of summer. Despite the emptiness and peaceful air of the landscape, it was treacherous. The snow was not heavily packed, and one misstep could lead to one being imprisoned under feet of frigid death. There was no source of water, and strange creatures, with fur darker than a bottle of ink and armor plates that were harder than steel roamed the plains. In the distance, the glaring yellow lights from a nearby city glowed harshly. The wind seemingly scattered the snow like sand, and that was what made it worse. When the wind picked up, mother nature unleashed an unstoppable cloud of snow that covered what once was and could make one lose their vision, or worse, their life.

In the middle of one of the plains, the glint of metal that was tinted purple could be seen for miles around, rolling along in a set of wheels that had the same metallic shine, pulled by a lone figure with ease. The person seemed unfazed by its surroundings, continuing its march alone, the sound of its shoes crunching against the snow accompanied by the whistling wind. For a second, the snow gave in under the suitcase and the figure was forced to pull it up, grunting as the twenty-ton weight on wheels barely made it out of the hole of ice before continuing it's long, heavy walk.

Funny how destiny has such a cruel sense of humor. Like the figure's past life, the suitcase was a burden, a totally awesome burden, but still a burden. It longed to be able to fly across the skies with ease, nothing to worry about. Those days were so long ago, and here he was, just like the suitcase. Without energy, barely chugging along thanks to whatever twisted deity's version of fate pulled it along. Sighing, the figure started to carry on, it's nearly eternal march continuing, while the willpower that fueled it slowly declined.

Every second it glanced behind it, and its footprints were gone or nearly gone, blown away by the constant wind. Any trees that the person found were a dark ash black, crowned with white snow, not a single leaf in sight. Bushes were bare sticks, and rivers turned into cold and unyielding ice.

The figure had curly hair which seemingly shined silver against the moonlight, but was a dark black during the day. The figure also had brown eyes, tanned olive-toned skin that had started to pale with each passing day as the cold made it necessary, and an elvish face. It's masculine features clearly said he was a boy, not having reached the age of 18. His cheek bones were thin, and despite his scrawny figure there were the small hints of muscle, that were barely noticeable under the grey jacket that seemingly clung to his figure. Right beneath the jacket was a white shirt, and a set of black jeans, and dark brown boots. Right in the middle, there was a brown leather tool belt, with various pockets, some ranging for the average compartments, to one for an extremely large hammer. Completely unorthodox for this type of weather the boy knew, but the clothes were the only thing on his back, aside from the suitcase.

In the middle of his clothing, there was a seemingly small golden pendant, which was encrusted with four precious stones on both sides: carnelian chalcedony, jade, and moonstone. Right in the middle, there was a fleur-de-lis, coated in pure obsidian. The chain was coated in black obsidian much like the fleur-de-lis, the stones connected in a series of swirls that curved without pattern.

When the boy opened the pendant, there were two pictures. One of a woman with black, curly hair, and olive-toned skin. She wore an oil stained white vest, a green army jacket, and navy blue jeans. Her hands were heavily calloused, as if she had been working ever since she could walk. Her brown eyes gleamed with intelligence despite the bright flash of the picture, and her arm was wrapped around the figure next to her. Right alongside the woman was a younger version of himself, smiling and careless, his cheeks tinged with baby fat. The picture was lined with burns at the edges. In the other picture, there was another woman. She had the same black hair, but the face was more regal, and she wore a beautiful white dress. She radiated a sense of power, like a queen in her court. Her eyes were also brown, but her eyes carried the discipline of a stern mother that had seen everything the world could throw at her. He couldn't help but stare wistfully at the two pictures, a mix of nostalgia and vertigo flooding his mind.

 _Mother... Hera... would you wish for this to be my path?_

He hated fairy tales. They were too optimistic, and realistic properties were practically frowned upon these days. He loved the novels that ended with bittersweet endings, because life wasn't a candy store. He listened to that simple optimism one time, the one clinging on maybes and what-ifs. And now that had returned to bite him in the ass with drill bits that could pulverize titanium. He even believed that every hero lived past the fight to vanquish the evil and preserve the good.

 _I was foolish again. I thought I already stopped that._ He thought, only to chuckle cynically. _Ah, the one who acts foolish is the one who pretends to be a fool._

He wanted to be a good person. He constantly tried to do so when he could afford it, when he could survive after everything his good actions caused.

But then again, he probably shouldn't be thinking that way. He had lied many times through his life, deceived and manipulated. He made allies - not friends, getting friends meant they were emotionally connected - for the sake of power and survival. An ally meant possible favors to reclaim, strength that they could give him, and protection from the other bullies in the playground.

So, for the sake of his survival he designed a jester's costume, since everybody loved the fool. If one believed him to be funny, naive, likable, and generally not a threat at all (both in social and street terms) he was safe from harm. When that didn't work, he ran away. It always worked, because if he was faster than everyone else, the bullies couldn't catch up, and if even they tried to catch up, they couldn't find him. And if that didn't work...

He felt a warmth fill his fingertips, but he closed his hands into a strong fist. That naivete had become his downfall, his desire for someone to relate to him disarming him from his tools of intellect and emotional restraint.

The boy who walked against these white fields, had only one name that did not matter to those in his past. He was fading, a remnant of old glory that was forgotten among the millions of rewards, diplomas, temples, monuments, and possibly even storybooks. Everyone remembered those with the flash, the style, the bravery and the name to fame. The right sword, the right power, the strings of fate always sending them into the flash of the spotlight. Nobody respected the hard workers, the ones who made the spotlights behind the scenes, the ones who made the swords, the so-called sidekicks. When one wanted to be recognized, working every single minute for just those little five minutes of fame, a prodigy would swoop down, eat it as if it were a worm, and get the fame to last a life time, and the hard workers would be forever end up in the shadows.

And his current fate was the result because he had tried. He had tried to do the right thing, to dash into the spotlight. Alone, with nothing but the clothes and weapons in his back, brought here for the sake of escape. In the shadows, free from the chains of self-deception, people who he _thought_ were his friends could possibly care the littlest about him except for a few.

He just wanted to save an innocent soul that he might have fallen in love with. And now it was gone, permanently erased when he had bent the rules. Would anyone blame him? He just wanted to save someone, someone who was just like him. Someone who was dumped, abandoned, and spited several times. He sympathized with her since he had been abandoned several times. First, his mother. Then his family. The foster home system. And his former friends who probably thought he was dead and were throwing a party about it. And he had done so, carrying their hopes with his sacrifice which was spent in vain.

 _Their hopes have become my burden, shattering my dreams and erasing my liberty. I will find my own liberation._

His march against the snow had grown, the crunching of the thin ice growing louder as each step he took grew heavier, until he sat down, the snow seemingly melting under him, dropping the suitcase and resting against the ice-cold snow, his head using the suitcase as a pillow. Strangely, the boy was unfazed to the extreme cold of the ice, head against the metal suitcase. The moon that shined on him from above was strange, almost like it was in the process of being shattered, slowly breaking down.

He was suddenly reminded of another day, the sun covered by clouds, the sky a strong, bloody red. Instead of the empty wasteland, there was a tropical island, unspoiled by man's inventions and exploration. The very memory brought a wave of bile up his throat. Another set of memories, ones from brighter and more hopeful times. Nostalgia, euphoria, and lava-hot fury filled his mind. Those clear days... they were very little and few in between, laced with lies and imprisonment.

He was alone, a thing he rarely liked. He preferred being in the crowds, were he played masquerade with naive fools who believed that he was innocent and pure. Dirty secrets were told to him, favors were gained, and he could even screw with them while they wouldn't have a clue. In a way, he was both the court jester and the chess master. But those he did get connected with, he cared about somewhat. Though there was this one time...

He shook his head, focusing back into the shining moon. The soreness of his knees had started to fade, but he was in no shape to continue his trek towards the city in the distance. It had been at least six hours ever since his last meal. Reaching into his tool belt, he pulled out two things that shouldn't have fit into the tool belt's small pockets. A small pizza box, and a rather large thermos.

The boy opened the pendant and looked at the photo of the regal woman. _Well, at least she had the decency of sending me with meals._

The sky rumbled above him, almost as if responding to his comment.

Rolling his eyes, he unpacked the pizza box and opened the thermos, taking a long, heavy sip. He licked his lips appreciatively, the sweet juice still in his lips. He then took a bite of the pizza, digging in eagerly. While he ate his dinner, his posture calmer. For a moment, he could picture another scene, a long, wooden oak table filled with laughter and cheer. His eyes glinted with anger as he took another bite, this one more aggressive. After finishing the first slice, he ate the next one, before taking off without even bothering for his stomach to digest the food, stowing away the box immediately

His mind still fueled with anger at remembering them. They didn't care about him, much less actually look for him. They barely considered what he wanted, and if he didn't know better, he would say that they were not even bothering to look for him on purpose. He knew that the reason was worse compared to whatever an author could write up. And he had read the most messed up fates any author could create.

Lock them in other dimensions? Please, they were safe right there. Send them to the literal incarnation of Hell? Two friends of his had gone to hell with just a touch of PTSD. The Gary and Mary Sues could take it. Kill everyone and everything they love? They would see them in the afterlife.

But socially isolate them from all their loved ones, knowing that one cared about them dearly whether it was in the battlefield or in times of peace, but never receiving any amount of care, consideration, or friendship in return? Knowing that they were yet so close yet so far? That was colder than anything. Betrayal was more merciful at best, since one at least knew that there were emotions pointed at them, rather for allies to focus on their romance and tea table affairs than those who aided them during their worst times.

In the end, optimism had been crushed. No good deed goes unpunished, price paid, the so-called 'power of friendship,' righteous cause, all those tropes be damned.

He was getting closer to the city now, just a few minutes. The suitcase moved behind him, leaving a trail of cold white snow behind him. He just needed a few more seconds. Everything would be erased and new. It was only the shifting of metal that warned him that something was wrong. Red lights flickered from the distant walls, and his shoulders tensed as the red lights were aimed at him, glaring harshly on top of the red walls. The gates from the nearby city opened, revealing a large squadron of soldiers. They wore cold, black and white uniforms, their movements nearly robot-like. He could feel the turning of gears from the distance, and sensed that these were not ordinary soldiers. They were soldiers of gears and wires, unfeeling and cold. Each one had strangely designed weaponry, from the archetypal sword to what was a seemingly modern rifle.

 _I've already done my share of the fight. I paid for every life that was spared. And still, why must it be me who does the fighting?_

The soldiers charged at him, each one holding their own weapon, swords, knives, spears, and they swung them at the him from different angles. Just as the swords were about him, the soldiers hit nothing but air, a spray of ash remaining where the boy was, the suitcase on the floor.

The soldiers looked around, only to finally look up, the boy seemingly floating from above. The boy pressed the moonstone in the pendant, and it grew, the metal dashing into his hands and shifting into knives, the photos making up part of the hilt, while the various gemstones were carved into the hilt, while the chain seemingly wrapped around the edges of the knives, giving them a sharpness that could slice through diamonds. He threw one down at the robots below him, striking one right in the heart.

 _(Battle Music: Ash Like Snow, English Version by GeekyFandubs)_

Then the boy then threw the next one at the rest of the soldiers, knocking one out into the snow. The boy began running around the soldiers, dodging bullets when the soldiers began to open fire, twirling between each bullet with an unnatural grace. The boy slid down when the soldiers had to reload, tripping two of the soldiers into the ground and picking up one of his knives from one of the fallen soldiers. He started stabbing and slashing in a frenzy, gears and some sort of red dust falling out of the robot's machinery before continuing to run forward while deflecting another round of bullets. He jumped over one who tried to slam him with a shield, slicing a robot's spear and picking up his other knife. He slashed off one of the robot's arms before removing one of the legs, finally cutting the head off. He tossed them at two other soldiers, pulling them off the dead machines' corpses.

He sliced through a blocking robot's swords, cleaving it into four pieces and removing it's two legs in rapid succession, kicking another one into the snow before stabbing it right in the chest. He rushed forward and dropped his knives, crushing a robot's shield with his bare hands, grabbing another robot's head along with the one right in front of him. For a second, the robots tried to reach him before his hands filled themselves with that familiar heat, tinting the robots a hot white before they exploded in a blitz of flame, then turning swinging his knives wildly, cutting a robot right behind him.

He blocked a robot's sword swings, before twirling around and decapitating the robot in a clean slice, leaving no trace of robot except a rolling head and its body. He intercepted a flying spear with a throw of one of his knives, the knife glowing white hot and slicing through the spear in a quick motion and then impaling itself in the robot's head. He blocked the slice of a bayonet, parrying the blade twice before jumping around the robot and bisecting it from the temple to what would be the groin area.

He went towards a group of six and slashed his knife through the robots, electricity crackling through them before they exploded. He made a practice throw for one second at one of the robots' heads before not hesitating. The heel of the knife knocked one down, but not before bouncing off the robot's head and clashing against another one right between the eyes would be, then hitting another one in the head before hitting two others in the side of the head. It wasn't long before the knife was back in his hand, taking out two more in the process.

He blocked the strikes from two other robots before jumping on a robot and using his knees to push the robot down while propelling himself backwards, doing a back flip before landing gracefully into the snow. He pressed the jade buttons on the knives, and the metal seemingly started to bend, slowly curling and shifting until they were long, circular whips, each black tendril connected with golden metal links on both sides.

The boy snapped the whips at one of the robots, pulling it closer in an instant until they were face to face. He pretended to stroke one of the robot's face, fingers tracing cold metal before slamming it down with his whips, the robot shattering into pieces. Another robot charged at him, and he snatched the robot's sword with a flick of his whip, swinging the whip once again downwards, the sword still attached to the golden plates, stabbing it right into the robot's chest. Two more charged him, and he swung the whip once again, letting the sword go before the black tendrils wrapped around each robots' foot, and slamming it into the snow. The sound of whistling wind filled his ear, and he dodged a large swing of a spear, blocking another one before jumping backwards, doing a back-flip in the process and landing gracefully.

He dodged a lunging robot while sidestepping the following knife trying to go at his throat, waving it aside with his one of his whips while he dropped the other one in his hand, a flame flickering in his hand before it turned into a brutal inferno that turned the rest of the robots and the ones behind it, into piles of molten metal. He swung his whip towards one of the robot before bashing its head in, tossing its weapon into a running robot that was about to body tackle him.

As the robots charged towards him, he snapped his whips several times, the robots falling as he struck them down, their bodies shattering into gears and that similar red dust, the few who made it past the whips getting thrown upwards and slammed into the ground. One lucky robot threw him into the sky, but his face was fearless, some would even say calm. He faced downwards as two robots jumped upward trying to intercept him. He swung his whips, swatting one aside while using the other one's face as a platform for another jump. A third ran at him with a sword, and all he could do was cross his shoulders in a block, pushed backwards a few yards. but not before wrapping his whip around the robot and eviscerating it. A group of robots surrounded him and tried to pile over him, but the boy's body glowed a deadly orange before launching the robots into all directions, the robots falling apart when they collided against into the snow.

He spun around, the whips wrapping themselves around the robots, crumpling their bodies and turning them into piles of crunched metal. For a second, everything was silent except his whips whistling around the silent air, devastating any robot who tried to reach him, only for the whistling wind and the sudden flare of heat made him snap out of his attack tossing himself into the snow as something loud zoomed nearby, nearly making him deaf with all the noise.

The size of the squadron of robots was now a large sixty, and he frowned at a much larger mech running behind the squadron of robots, nearly two stories tall. His fingers lingered on the obsidian fleur-de-lis, only to pass it and press the red chalcedony. The metal shifted back again, this time solidifying, the whips returning to their original form of the pendant while the steel suitcase he had dropped long ago zoomed towards him, glowing a glassy red.

The suitcase clung to his back, losing its glassy red glow while turning into a deadly masquerade mask, with two, glowing yellow eyes, a purple face, with golden trims in the edges of the mask, while the mouth of the mask was open. Two twin protrusions appeared on the back of the mask, almost as if they were wings. Several hilts of swords appeared from each protrusion, glowing a dark amethyst purple. Right where the mouth is open, there was a single, lone white flower. _( **It looks like Lucifer from Devil May Cry).**_

He gave an unimaginable dash of speed, running faster than he had ever done so, the snow trailing after him in an immense spray, followed by black ash that dyed the ground black and white, while flames that were hot white sprouted from his boots, propelling him forward as he threw a sword right in the head of one of the robots, before doing the same towards another robot. Time seemed to flow faster, and he began throwing swords wildly without mercy.

Heads were split with. Chests were impaled. Clockwork arms were shattered. Knees made of cables snapped, and weapons melted into smoldering piles. Everything was filled in the hot-white of the flames, and for once, he felt alive, unstoppable, all fading into the reliable beat of combat which he never had the chance to experience. He focused on the mech and started to throw the swords, more growing out of the machine to replace them, jumping as the machine swung a large mechanical arm, running across the limb while he was covered in the harsh blanket of heat and thermal energy, leaving a trail of flames. He climbed on top of the robot's head before leaping up high, bombarding the mech with swords and fire from above.

One to the head.

Two to the left arm.

Two to the right arm.

Four for the torso.

Five for the right leg.

Another five for the other leg.

And a large ball of fire that swamped the entire mech's body, making it crumple into the snow.

Right there, on top of the sky, with the cold, lonely moon shining behind him while he glowed like a supernova with his fire, the boy's face looked for one single moment, at peace. While landing softly into the ground, the boy pulled out the sole white flower from the mouth of the masquerade mask in midair, lifting it towards his nose. He sniffed it delicately, before throwing the flower right into a sword that was right in the center of the robot. Like fire following gasoline, the first sword exploded, other explosions following in quick succession, stretching from the center of the mech to swamping the rest of the robot's their remains tossed into the sky, their ashes falling into the sky like snow.

 _(Battle Music Ends)_

He looked towards the remaining ashes of the former metal, his eyes having an orange glint as his flames faded away, his clothes unmarked, the snow below him melted into a soft lush beneath his feet, boiling into a fine mist when it got too close to him. The wind blew once again, and all the ashes seemed to circle around him, until he himself seemed to shroud him in darkness, the only things flickering against the dark black was the glint of the obsidian fleur-de-lis as he started walking toward the city.

Amid the lonely night, Leo Valdez still did what he did best. Keep moving forward. Never look back, and whatever you do, never let anyone in.

* * *

 _There are four panels, each one coated in a specific color. The first one was an obsidian black. The second was a dark crimson. The third one, a dark purple. The fourth one, a pale jade. The first one glows a sudden white, and Leo's image is printed into the background, holding his pendant in its knives' form while his suitcase was in its weapon mode._

 _Right below him, there was a single L._

 _The second one had an A._

 _The third one had an R._

 _The fourth one had another L._

 _In the end, all four letters formed into LARL (Laurel)._

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, first time I'm doing this. I'm going to do a legitimate RWBY x Percy Jackson crossover that I hope will not suck. Note that Leo Valdez is going to be the only character from the Percy Jackson and the Olympians Universe (regarded by fans as PJO for short). I will not bring the self-titled novel's main protagonist, Percy Jackson, into the fold since I feel that Jackson has been too main-centered and diluted in various crossovers, and find it interesting if it were another protagonist a chance in the limelight.


	2. The Crimson Fury

**Crimson Fury Trailer**

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 _There is a wild fire inside you, a burning desire you can't extinguish. Let it consume your enemies and those who oppose your path, but do not let it consume the clarity that you have._

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 _"Through this you will utilize your darkness as your greatest power. Clawing through anything and everything in your way, I liberate your soul from the bindings of prejudice against you, and through your strength, you will exterminate our oppressors."_

* * *

The blood red leaves of the forest always occupied a strange sense of irony. The ground beneath them was the same color as the leaves themselves. The trees that they sprouted on had wood that was pitch black. The trees were part of a series of mountain ranges that were tipped with snow, the sky dyed a soft pink in the lonely dawn. It was peaceful, rarely tampered by man's creations. Some would call it beautiful.

In the distance, the sound of a train's horn could be heard, piercing past the primal silence that had occupied the air. The train sped across it's winding tracks, before it seemingly split in two, the cargo area losing momentum while the one managed by all the crew members kept speeding up, this time in an unparalleled speed due to the loss of mass, it's acceleration increasing due to the lack of weight. The other half lost speed quickly, losing their source of force that kept the cart moving. In the cart that was losing its speed, there was a lone figure who was frozen, almost as if in shock, it's eyes focused on the train that was quickly leaving it, before nearly vanishing into the horizon.

Actions speak louder than words, as most would say. The figure''s mind was just processing this, but it couldn't move, almost as if the man was a statue carved during the distant past. The figure was known for his fervor and zeal in what he did, the passion in its mission, the cause it had laid down his life on. The actions it had done without regret, since it knew in the end everything would be rewarded. It was strange, seeing the figure frozen. It was only a small beeping that triggered the figure out of its silence, and the figure jumped out of its section of the train as it blew up in a mix of every natural element.

Shrapnel flew out of the train as the figure had dropped from the train and into the red ground, bits of the explosion hitting it everywhere, but the figure seemingly reflected the damage, almost as if it had its personal force field. The figure had suffered and seen through worse. It had seen explosions that had encompassed entire mines and made them collapse, aided those trapped inside when the ones in charge wouldn't help them. Despite its actions, one couldn't claim the figure to be a blood knight, a person hungry for blood.

The figure was tall, with red hair that spiked backwards, almost as if it had been windswept. The figure's face was masculine, some would even call it aristocratic. His eyes were covered by a simple mask that was a whitish-tan, with red flame-like symbols along with two slits for vision. Seemingly sprouting out of his head there were two black horns, almost as if they were the ones of a bull. He wore a long-sleeved black trench coat with slit sleeves and more red designs and a white symbol on the left side. His trench coat was red on the inside with red flame-like accents at the bottom and a large emblem on the back. The emblem was a large, red rose seemingly growing out of white tulips.

His long pants were a dark black, and he wore black shoes. Covering his hands were a pair of black gloves with the omega symbol in a fire red, while his belt had some sort of silver and black domino pattern. The object that stood out aside from whole red and black all over color scheme the man seem to have, was the sheathed sword that strapped to his waist, which, like the rest of his ensemble, seemed to be a dark black.

The man was worn, like leather exposed to the elements. Worn due to the passing of time, brutality, and cruelty that was seemingly universal. He had seen nearly every aspect of death that occurred in life, whether it was murder, the land around collapsing from the inside-out, nature's wrath metaphorically and literally, disease, and sometimes even pure accident, even dealing them when he saw it as necessary for survival.

Others would've keeled over, collapsed at the memories of such horrific events, but the man had what others lacked.

Resolve. Hope. Fury. Desire. A concoction of concepts that, if left to their solitude, would have immediately quelled if it weren't for a torch. A single light that was shining on him, keeping his spirit from fully giving in, no matter how the light had dimmed. The torch was once a shining beacon, radiating an idealism that the figure hadn't seen for millennia.

The man clung to those as he ran into the forest, his red hair blending into the foliage. Despite the man seemingly standing out in contrast with his black clothing, it was the way the man silent run that signified the fact that he saw this place as a home, no matter how perilous the forest was to the average man. The forest was his personal refuge due to its distance from civilization, since no one rarely dared to step into the forest, and even then, it took an hour to reach the borders.

The man hid here not for the sake of solitude, but because it was necessary. If he dared step foot in civilization, he would be met with a gun to the head and an executioner on speed dial, while the many crimes committed against his beliefs were displayed to the world, ignored as the crowds would cheer for his face on a silver platter. No one would give him due process, believing the liars who had attacked him in the first place.

The man hated innocence. Innocence was the factor that made the world blind. So many people could get away with their crimes because people could not see past the lies. if the heroes did something that was even remotely shady, they would still be praised as if they were saints of light and virtue, given positions that they might not have deserved, or their names dragged through the mud and forever converted into the image of Satan. The concept of 'black and white' was seemingly common in innocence, never believing in the shades of grey that laced the world.

After all, he should know, since he saw many a victim of that mentality/insanity. Many lived with him in refuge since they lived in the grey, attracted to the same flare he saw, almost as if they were moths to light. That haven... it was once so peaceful, but so inspiring. It gave people a cause to follow, a direction that might've finally accomplish their goals, their dreams, and their visions of freedom.

His home had changed with the passing of time. It was no longer a bastion for equality, but a torch for a revolution. The peaceful protests, the ones that had let his hopes down, were long gone due to any of them not being successful. In the past, before it had changed, he had to bury friends, allies, and the innocent who were caught in the middle of bullets from an unsympathetic enemy.

The man soon arrived into a large campsite. The tents were a uniform, nearly dull brown that blended in against the sunlight and the shade evenly. Barrels and crates were positioned around the entrances, with the barrels bearing water, while the crates had a varied amount of supplies. The clouds that covered the sky broke up, turning into a heavenly blue instead of the pink before. Walking around the campsite were various people of all skin and color. They wore thin, white armor and black clothing underneath. Covering their eyes were masks like the man's, except they were steel grey and more basic. In the back of the armor, there was the face of a tiger with three claw signs, all of them a bright red.

But what made them stand out were the animal features that were like the man's bull horns, but in this case, nearly every case of animal species. Some were the trademark animal ears that were quite common in television, while others had prehensile tails, ranging from the ones of dogs and cats to the ones of a reptilian variety. Some even had avian, insect-like, or even bat wings.

When the men and women saw the man, they gave their own signs of respect. Some saluted, some bowed, while others smiled. However, they all frowned at the sight of a person that was supposed to be at his side. The person, after all, was his protégé, his student, and aside from another person, his right hand. Approaching from one of the bigger tent, there was a fortress of a man, with light, brown skin, one of his arms coated in black tattoos that were not elaborate, but simple. His face, compared to the other people around the camp, was covered by a bigger, more elaborate bone-white mask, this one covering his entire face instead of the eyes, while blood-red lines fell from the eyes to the chin.

He nodded towards the other man, and went into the tent.

"Sir, what happened to Ms. Belladonna?" The man asked, his voice long and deep, but that could've been the acoustics of the mask at play to make him seem more intimidating.

His temper flared like an explosion of Fire Dust. "She's gone. Abandoned me in the middle of the mission without an excuse, and cut the connection between the carts. The dust was successfully disposed of, and aside from her betrayal and interference from the robotic security, the mission was a success."

The lieutenant was at a loss of words, and he couldn't help but be remembered of a more hopeful time, when he believed the old ways could bring them equality. The smile of when he was brought into the fold, how he let himself believe that he would receive the freedom he deserved. However, when the leadership of their haven changed, he had adapted and seen the logic in the new techniques. His former friend had not, believing that the old ways would still work.

Initially, he had taken her words and tried to continue the old ways as best as he could, despite the pressure from the higher ups, the jeering and taunts from those who vied for his position. He originally stuck to his resolve, but eventually it had faded along with the hope of those working with him. How could he look at them straight in the eyes, and claim they were doing everything he could when others were making headway?

Her vision couldn't be accomplished. There were various mass movements after the Great War, when they were all nearly crammed into an island which was displayed as an entire country. There was a revolution, which only raised whatever semblance of respect they had, and let them roam freely. On paper, they were treated equally, which was usually just _fine_ for the unsuspecting masses. However, when one looked at real life, it was clear that it was not the truth, and those who seek the truth must go into the shadows to know how widespread it was.

 _You saw how deep the racism was. You went with me to see the mines, and how brutally the workers were treated. You saw how **they** treated anyone who tried to protest them. Why do you think we were forced to hide in the shadows? Why do you think we resorted to violence? Because we were tired. Tired of every chance of hope being torn apart in front our very eyes, tending wounds of failed protests, and tired of the straight and utter shit we had to put up on from both sides._

But then again, if there was one part of him that probably rubbed off on her it was his stubbornness. She would always keep to her beliefs, never stopping to think they are right, while he would never stop fighting to achieve equality, no matter what. He would never bow down, whether it was the press, the governments, or even those who believed there was a better way and abandoned him. He would never abandon his cause until it was finally achieved.

Though that didn't mean his heart had cracked a little bit when she had left him so abruptly, leaving only a word.

After a few minutes, the other man finally spoke to him. "We'll find her sir. I swear on my life."

"Forget it!" He snapped, dismissing the subject in an instant. "It's time I returned to Mistral and - "

The sounds of fighting from outside the tent made the two face each other, before nodding in unison. They ran out the doors, his arms barely pulling out the sword while the man next to him picked a large, nearly over-size chainsaw that was a dark grey with black lining that was the same height as a tall child.

"What is this?!" He ran out, unsheathing the sword only to freeze at the sight before him.

There was a trio of teenagers, but that wasn't what had caught his attention, along with the suitcases and the weapons they had. It was the sheer amount of his men, who were scattered across the campsite, their bodies spread across the ground. Several of them were trying to pick themselves up, while most of them were unconscious, or worse.

He finally focused towards the teenagers. The one in the front, the leader, held two twin swords that were a steel grey with orange patterns. Her mini-dress was a dark blood red, with lining that was a dark shade of caramel orange, with swirling patterns and two behind her were her obviously, her cohorts. The one on the left was a girl also, with pale mint green hair that was tucked into a pony tail and her eyes were a dark red. Her figure thin and lithe with brown skin She wore an olive-green crop top, brown chaps that covered her legs, and dark green pants, and flat dark brown shoes. The other cohort was a boy with grey hair that was messy in the front while slicked in the back, and grey eyes. He wore a slate gray and black two-tone partial-zip jacket, dark orange pants with black boots.

The woman spoke, her voice smooth as silk. "We could've gone to anyone for help, but we chose you." The woman took a step forward, a frown forming into her face as she threw the twin swords into the ground.

"Our plan will be beneficial for both of us." She pointed one of her palms at the swords, a blaze of fire roaring out of her right hand and setting fire to her swords with such speed that he took almost took a step back, "Or one of us."

The two cohorts unpacked the two suitcases, each one baring its own gifts. One was loaded with several crystals, each one of every shape and color. The other one held several stocks of what must've been thousands in currency.

The woman's hand, the one that had ignited her swords which still stood despite the immense amount of heat the fire radiated.

"So, which will it be?" The woman's voice was careless, but the threat was clear and visible.

Could he renege on the promise he had made to his haven? Could he violate the contract that he had sworn with his entire life, to save his men? He had sworn to uphold his cause for equality, not to be hired assassins or thugs. They had a cause. He wouldn't abandon the cause if he accepted, if it later proved beneficial, but that was what his consciousness couldn't let go. She was no different than all the politicians who promised equality, but never actually bringing it. However, she was displaying a payment, one that would probably be the first of many.

He walked towards the woman, sheathing his sword and walked through the flames, the fire seemingly extinguishing when it met contact with his clothing. He shook the woman's hand.

"I..."

His other hand subtly dashed towards the mechanism near the sheath of his sword.

"Deny."

His finger pressed the mechanism, and a blood red sword shot out of the hilt, hitting the woman straight in the nose.

 _(Battle Music: From Shadows by Jeff and Casey Williams_ )

He dashed towards the sword, grabbing it and dashing towards the woman, while the man at his side ran forward, his chainsaw revving while going towards the woman's two henchmen. The woman rolled towards the side, picking up her swords and arcing them into a double hit. He blocked the two hits with the blade, sheathing his sword and dashing backward as the woman did a slow sweep kick, closing the distance once again and slashing at the woman several times, sheathing his sword with each slash. The woman blocked the attacks with swift speed, pushing him backwards. He shoved the next push out of the way, his sword stabbing the back of the woman several times, but it barely seemed to make a dent towards the woman, who remained uninjured. He finished the stabbing with a kick to the woman's back, who fell to the ground and doing a back roll.

The woman's two swords meshed together, a string appearing between the two arcing swords and connecting them together into a bow. The woman's black purse turned into a quiver. He met her head on, stabbing at her face only for the woman to block his sword with her bow, slamming it at his stomach. He blocked the bow and kicked it aside, stabbing the woman in the chest and pushing her towards the ground.

He sheathed his sword again, only the man was surprised for the girl to jump and land into the ground, the dirt below her scattering into dust. The girl waved her hand, and the dust gathered, forming into a wall of black crystals that flew at him with unbridled speed. He swung his sword with rapid speed, slashing or blocking the dust crystals, the emblem on his back seemingly glowing before returning into its original color. He rushed at the woman, stabbing his sword at her several times, the woman blocking or deflecting the strikes. He feinted a strike, only to trip the woman and sweep her off her feet with his feet and slashing at her left arm.]

The woman dropped her swords while she was on the ground and acrobatically kicked her feet, making him try to dodge the kicks, only for her to stand back again. He pulled out his sheath which shifted, forming into a rifle as he shot three times at her. The ammunition seemingly bounced off the woman as if there was a barrier against her, and a smirk appeared on the woman's face.

"Dammit," He cursed.

The woman picked up her swords, and swung her swords at him upwards, but his sword met the blades, pushing them aside only to parry the woman's next high kick. He blocked the next swing of her blades, only for the woman to drop her swords and grab his face, her hands lighting themselves on fire. He had to force himself not to scream, but he returned the favor by stabbing her in the chest and then kicking her in the waist, staggering the woman. He took advantage of that and swung his sword in a wide arc. The woman slid across the ground, but he immediately closed in. He grabbed the woman's neck and tossed her into the air, jumping to soon follow him.

He slashed at the woman in rapid speed about eight times before slamming her down into the ground, falling on her stomach. He jumped across, leaving the woman with no chance to attack him. He unsheathed his sword and aimed the sheath which shifted into its rifle form, hitting the woman one time before the two other bullets were blocked point blank by her hands. The woman waved her left hand, and a series of glass shards seemed to form themselves out of thin air.

The clouds in the sky that was once a clear blue suddenly gathered, growing grayer and darker. The woman seemed to slowly pick herself up, her face looking at the ground. In the distance, he could see his companion trying to ward off the woman's two henchmen, swinging his chainsaw as he blocked the kick from the grey-haired boy only to suffer several stabs from the girl's green kusarigama, only for the man to grab her face and slam her into the ground.

He dashed forward, ready to deal the final blow and cut the woman's neck, only for a sudden burst of wind to knock him and everyone around him - her allies, his lieutenant, and the various troops under his command scattering to the winds. He planted his sword into the ground, while his lieutenant turned off his chainsaw and did the same. The girl with mint-green hair also seemed to follow what they did, stabbing her kusarigama into the ground. The grey-haired man was not so lucky, blown to the side, only to land on top of a branch from the nearest tree.

He looked at the woman, who finally looked at them, her right eye shrouded with a white-hot fire, a confident smirk filling her face. She lifted her right hands towards the sky, and fire sprouted the from her finger tips, almost as if lightning was going back towards the sky. She lowered her hands once more, picking up the swords, and they sprouted from fire. The fire seemed to grow, making the length of the blades to one of a large car. The girl swung her blades, and he was forced to step back. However, he didn't expect the fire to extend, and it slammed his stomach, sending him to a nearby tree. He tucked his body into a roll while he was still in midair, and before he hit the tree, he stabbed his sword into the trunk, sliding around the blunt end of the sword and then jumping off the trunk and on the ground, only for the eyes behind his mask to widen.

The woman was dashing at him with immense speed, flames that sprouted from her feet propelling her forward while she swung those same blades of fire at him. He jumped above the swing of the blades, pulling his sword out of the tree in the process before aiming his sheath towards the woman, who was trying to turn around. He fired two shots from the sheath of his sword on the woman's back before running forward and stabbing right in the back, where there was a tattoo of two high-heeled shoes forming a heart. The girl fell into the ground, but not before turning around and swinging her swords, one of them hitting the ground right in front of him.

The other sword got a bit luckier.

The blade of fire swung down, cleaving his mask in two, pushing him backwards several yards before being slammed into the nearest tree.

The woman dashed towards him, that eye of hers still shrouded in fire that seemed to glow with boiling cruelty her blades of fire slamming his blade as he tried to block it. The ground below him seemed to crack, and the metal of his sword grew to a burning heat that the average man would've gotten third-degree burns from. In contrast, the thermal energy seemed to pour out of the blades like a flood flowed into his veins, giving them the strength he needed.

The woman pushed down harder, only for the man to sheath his sword and dropped to the ground, rolling to the left before the blade slammed on his head, leaping above the swing of the two blades and behind the girl, turning around and kicking her in the back. The girl fell, rolling into the ground before finally managing to get a grip, jumping while her swords turned into a bow, three arrows aimed right at him. The girl's arrows missed, each one impaling themselves on the ground before his feet.

It was the ungodly scream, almost as if a million eldritch abominations were slowly being tortured, and the ground glowing beneath him, that Adam looked down. The trembling ground the blinding blast of light sent him flying. The woman seemingly flew towards him, propelled by her fire, and the only thing he could do was block the swings from her two swords, only for her to grab him by the neck and flying back towards the earth.

When they nearly returned towards the ground, the woman slammed his head into it at full force while still propelling herself forward, the back of his head seemingly carving a line across the earth. The woman had gotten him in the middle of the air, but she had forgotten about the rest of his body. Gritting his teeth against the constant pain, His hand gripped his sword and nearly impaled the woman, pushing her off while he tried to pick up some sort of grip hold. The woman seemed to hold her stomach for a while, giving him enough time to recover.

The man looked up, dusting off the dust from the dirt with a calm disregard, but there was a silent fury that encompassed his entire body, like a hurricane in the ocean's horizon, uncontrollable, cruel and merciless, following no laws but nature's. In the inside, the man's mind grew colder, any compassion destroyed in the tidal wave of his anger, his mind filling growing clearer and yet colder than the most barren tundra. The man looked up at the woman, the eyes that were hidden by his mask revealed as a strong, bloody red. As the man looked at the woman, his eyes quickly lost their original color, glowing a red so pale it was hard to distinguish whether it was pink, red, white, or a mix of them which was blended into two twin flares of light.

He nearly unsheathed the blade, showing the blade that glowed the same bright red. The man's hand dashed into one of the hidden pockets in his jacket, revealing a long yet thin purple crystal that seemed to radiate power. He immediately put it in a slot in the sheath, and a thick coat of purple energy covered the sword, making it glow. The second the man's sword left the hilt, he pressed the trigger.

The man gave an unimaginable dash of speed, almost as if all the laws of physics themselves were altered to work towards his way. The friction of the ground was useless, leaving clouds of dust at his feet, the ground that met his feet stripped of its red coat of grass. The man's grip had switched now, wielding both the sheath and the sword like they were two blades. The man's sheath and sword met the woman's twin swords. He feinted a stab towards the woman's head. The woman lifted her swords to block, only for him to slam her stomach with the end of his sheath and firing two rounds in unison when the sheath contacted the woman's body.

The woman staggered, only for him to trip her before she could recover. His blade dashed forward and he kicked her swords to the side, dropping the sheath and decking her in the face, followed by an uppercut slash, and a blast from his now-recovered rifle to the woman's face. He slashed to his heart's content, his fury filling his strikes. The woman writhed in pain, as he sliced the woman all over her body, his fury filling his strikes with an edge that was like no other. He gave a wide arcing slice, that ran through her head, a slice that would've split the average person in two.

He grabbed the woman's head and slammed her into the ground, only for the woman to gain a vestige of concentration, and aimed one of her hands and released a blast of fire. He blocked the blast with his blade, absorbing the energy from the fire before quickly twisting out of a hand dashing to his face, kicking her feet out from under woman rolled out of the way, only for him to leap at her, the woman barely dodging his strike which pierced the ground where she once was.

The woman dashed towards him, picking up her blades and slammed them again against his sword. The woman's bladed swung towards the left, and he lifted his blade to block the strike, only for her to bob towards the left and slam the blades towards his open side, before going for the groin and smashing it with her knee. He grasped him by the neck, her fingers touching his skin akin to a live fire exposed to wood.

"Such a shame, that despite everything you stand for, you are merely mortal." The woman smiled, and the heat almost felt as if he had been poured into scalding water, scattering across his body and everything around him radiated pain as his windpipe tried to swallow any air. "But that doesn't mean I am merciful. In the end, I will let you kindly scatter."

The woman tossed him up towards the sky directly above her, and as he was distanced from the ground itself, he could see fire swirling around the woman as if she herself was a living, breathing fire. The fire around her consolidated, before it blasted towards him, any trees surrounding the blast bursting into flames, while the sky itself was ablaze.

The man gritted his teeth, and blocked the blast with his blade head on. The fire burned almost as if he had been tossed into a desert and set on fire, but the power that he absorbed was like a rush of adrenaline mixed with caffeine, fueling his strength. The symbols on his gloves and on the back of his jacket glowed a bright red along with his eyes, that mix of violent red and white satisfying him. When the blast was over, the man sheathed his blade and laughed, his voice filled with sinister intent.

Right on top of the sky, with the sun glowing its stark light while heavenly blue and his own red glow surrounding him like an aurora, the man's anger could be felt for miles, almost as had concentrated like a flair. Below him, the woman growled in fury, and readied another blast of fire, but gravity itself had aided the man, his fall faster than what the woman could prepare for. He unsheathed his blade and sliced in a wide arc when he was close to the woman. Crimson leaves scattered, and any trees that were nearby toppled away from the source of the blast while light itself turned into a mix of bloody reds and black shadows.

 _(Battle Music Ends)_

The man landed softly into the ground, crouching into the ground as fatigue filled his muscles, and a drumming filled his ears. The man was tempted to collapse, into the floor, but was maintained by sheer willpower. The woman's body fell into the ground, and red rippled over her. The man was about to look for his ally, only for a yell to fill the air that was once filled with the roar of fire, the screams of bullets, and the loud staccato of explosions. The man looked at its direction, and saw that his ally had fallen. A small aurora around the man seemed to ripple with brown energy, before fading away completely. The Lieutenant reached out to him, only for his hand to get stomped on by the girl with the green hair, and the man to deal a sickening kick at the man's legs.

"Do you have any words to say to your leader?" The girl with the mint-green hair asked, her voice laced with hollow saccharine.

The Lieutenant groaned in pain, only to look directly at him, and the elaborate mask of his ally cracked in two, but not falling apart, "Sir... we may have fallen today, but please, run. Our legacy -"

The girl's pressure on his lieutenant's hand increased, but he just kept talking, "Will not exist if we are wiped out. Sir, ru-" The grey-haired man delivered another kick to knock the man out.

He internally seethed, his anger and wrath growing to dangerous levels. He wanted to stand and fight, screw the choices. He looked around at all the men and women in uniform that were scattered along the terrain. They were his comrades. He had vowed to keep them safe and fuel their dreams that were never given a chance. Some of them were forced to abandon families, friends, lovers, and companions because they were forced to run away. He wanted to roar, to rage, to run at the monsters who decided to attack what is his home.

But as the people who had decided to intrude, to believe they were a bunch of mercenaries for hire prepared their own combat stance, cold logic swamped his mind like a blizzard in the north. He was outnumbered, tired, and his stamina was burnt to ashes in the earlier fight. Managing whatever energy, he had, he turned around and started running, turning around and blocking blasts before he picked up what was left of his mask and ran even faster, and leaped towards one of the crimson valleys, letting gravity do the rest of the work for him.

As the harsh morning turned into a blistering afternoon, Adam Taurus did the best he could do. He ran, ran with shame pouring in his heart, his anger and fury the only thing fueling his footsteps and willpower.

* * *

 _The four panels are still there, each one coated in their colors but one was already filled. The obsidian black panel displayed Leo's image is printed into the background, holding his pendant in its knives' form while his suitcase was in its weapon mode. The other three were empty, only for the second one to be nearly sliced in two, shattering in the process, the crimson red glowing before Adam's face appears. Half of his face is showing, the eye showing covered by his mask. His sword, Wilt, is nearly unsheathed, glowing a brighter red that stands out against the crimson. His back is slightly turned, so the crimson red rose on the back of his trench coat is shown._

* * *

 **OK, I was really conflicted on which character to choose for this trailer. While there were various nominees in forms of OCs, Ilia Amitola (I like the concept that she sprouted, but I felt I needed more material to work on, and yes, she is a character) one of the Albain twins from Season 4, but in the end Adam took the cake because I feel, that with the plot I am planning he would make a much more varied character. No, he is not making a heel-face turn, I mean, he would've left with Blake in the first place, which I find to be an overused storyline in the RWBY fandom. Not only that, but I find his personality, and one of the main reasons for his involvement in canon to be very interesting. Adam, to be honest, has some legitimate reasons due to events to be furious at Blake which I will not spoil (though many of you probably know of them) along with some rather interesting info I collected from volume 4. If you have an issue with my character, don't flame.**


End file.
